29/01/2018
Michael “Nobbie” Blackburn
Here is the eulogy given by Alisatair Deller at Woking Crematorium on 12.1.18 at the farewell & Service of Celebration for 'Nobbie' Blackburn who sadly passed away on 30.12.17.
Nobbie
In September 1966, a disparate group of people arrived at Twickenham College of Technology to begin a Graduate Diploma course in Electrical, Electronic and Control Engineering. Over the next four years, together with several others from the following year’s intake and a few from the Mechanical Engineering course, we formed a group of very good friends. One of the group was Michael, who immediately endeared himself to the rest of us with his ready wit and easy, friendly manner. He proved to be a bright student and a natural engineer – qualities which were to pave the way for a highly successful career. Among our fellow engineering students was Peter Chue, a native of Singapore and a talented singer. One day, as Michael entered the room, Peter was heard to exclaim “Ah, Nobbie Blackburn” – nobody knows why, but the name stuck, and he was known as Nobbie from then on.
In many teaching establishments, Liberal Studies is treated as a bit of a joke – simply an excuse to skive off for an afternoon a week. In our case, however, the music side of Liberal Studies, led by the charismatic Cameron McNicol, became a major part of our college life – sometimes to the detriment of our studies. It is a testimony to Nobbie’s character that, despite by his own admission having what Richard Stilgoe once described as “Van Gough’s ear for music”, he became an integral part of the college music scene, ready to turn his hand to anything and, as always, ensuring that any pretensions to vanity or pomposity were swiftly punctured by his sharp wit.
Those on engineering courses at that time were almost exclusively male but, fortunately, other college courses, such as Illustration and Graphic Design, had a preponderance of female students, many of whom became an integral part of our circle of friends and found Nobbie’s company every bit as enjoyable as we did.
There was a vibrant social scene at the college and Nobbie was one of the prime movers in organising many rowdy parties and other social events. We also had several riotous holidays in the Lake District and on the canals with Nobbie always helping to ensure that the good times really did roll.
I don’t mean to give the impression that Nobbie was just “the life and soul of the party”. While he undoubtedly was, he was also one of the kindest and most modest people that I have ever met – unfailingly generous with his time, his talents and his friendship. I never recall him being sorry for himself and he was always ready to help others, whether this was with academic work, getting his hands dirty assisting us to keep our unreliable old bangers on the road, or giving people (frequently somewhat inebriated) a lift home, often at ungodly hours of the night.
After college, our group of friends kept in touch and met each other regularly, often aided and abetted by Nobbie. As time passed, however, our paths began to diverge - people were married and started families of their own and many moved away, some abroad.
Some thirty years later several of us, including Nobbie and Lesley, were reunited with great success. It is a testimony to our friendship that, even after several decades, we simply took up where we had left off – Nobbie, as ever, ensuring that proceedings never became too serious. Since then, we have all met with Nobbie and Lesley on numerous occasions some, sadly, to say farewell to a few of our number – including “Smoko” Mike Cowley, “Rocking” Dave Dilloway and, just last year, Frankie McLaren.
We have lost a great friend and there is now a Nobbie-shaped hole in our lives. Nature, though, abhors a vacuum, and it is therefore essential that that hole is filled, not with sorrow and self-pity, but with love and laughter.
As I was writing this, something kept popping up in the back of my mind. It was the closing scene of Monty Python’s Life of Brian. You probably remember that this showed a group of people being crucified – just about as grim an experience as you can imagine. Unexpectedly, though, we are left uplifted and end the film with a smile on our faces when they start singing “Always look on the bright side of life”. What better memorial could there be to our dear friend than to try to live up to these words?
Alastair Deller
12th January 2018
